Gayne Young - The Tunnel

“Rock feels different,” Angel scoffed. “Who cares? Come on, man. Punch it out.”

“You the boss,” Carlos said, nodding.

Carlos cranked the excavator back to life and Angel jumped from the treads and walked toward the hole Carlos had started. Angel looked into the massive gash and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, turned and walked away. He turned back when he heard the jackhammer’s change in sound then watched in horror as the ground around the striking hammer gave way.

Carlos threw the excavator in reverse and gunned it back and away from the imploding earth. Angel watched in disbelief as rock and gravel, dirt and debris fell inward, leaving a Suburban-sized sinkhole.

Angel turned to Carlos and motioned for him to continue backing away from the hole. Angel’s crew jumped from Bobcat track loaders, sprung from pickup beds, scrambled from the shade, and rushed to the edge of the hole. Carlos killed the excavator and rushed to join them.

“Don’t get too close,” Angel warned, gesturing for the men to back away.

“Told you that shit felt different,” Carlos barked.

“How deep is that thing?” a worker named Antonio wondered aloud.

Marco pulled the cell phone from his pocket and used it as a flashlight to peer into the void. “Shit’s deep!”

“Don’t get too close,” Angel warned again.

Antonio left and returned with a flashlight. He stood at the edge of the sinkhole and shined the beam downward.

“That’s real deep,” Antonio detailed. “Like, walk around inside of there deep.”

“Yeah, we’re done for the day,” Carlos exclaimed.

“What?” Angel questioned.

“I ain’t driving over that, some big-ass cavern,” Carlos explained. “And I sure ain’t gonna jackhammer into it. Start a bigger cave-in.”

Angel wiped the growing sweat from his brow in thought.

Carlos was right.

Angel would have to call the company for guidance. They’d have a team of geologists and engineers come survey the area, debate what they’d found, then debate how to proceed. In the meantime, Angel and his crew would get paid to sit around and wait.

“Smells like shit down here!”

Angel returned from his thoughts to see Antonio climbing into the newly developed hole.

“Get outta there,” Angel barked in fear.

“It’s cool,” Antonio offered. “The rocks fell like steps.”

“Antonio! Get outta there,” Angel directed once more. “Worker’s comp won’t pay on accidents involving you being a dumbass.”

“Dumbass? Ha!” Antonio laughed. “I’m an explorer.”

Most of the crew laughed and all watched as Antonio lowered himself further into the hole.

Antonio stepped down the jumble of rocks that led into what he discovered was a vast cavern. The rocks that had collapsed from Carlos’ hammering had fallen upon a spur that grew from the cavern floor. Antonio made his way down the rocks and then to the rise and then to the floor below. He exited the beam of light that shone through the hole now some 20 feet above him and into a world of complete darkness. The air was humid and smelled of animal, animal feces, and dampness. Antonio’s flashlight pierced the darkness to reveal a room the size of two soccer fields. Passages veered from this expanse in every direction. Stalactites hung from the ceiling and the floor was worn smooth from what Antonio guessed was from some kind of flooding.

“Watch out for bats,” someone yelled from high above.

Antonio trained his beam on the ceiling and into the maze of stalactites that grew from it.

“Ain’t no bats down here,” he yelled back.

Antonio stepped forward then paused when his right foot came down on something brittle.

Something that snapped.

He lowered his flashlight to find the ground before him littered with bones.

There were bones of every size and every shape.

Some were bleached dry by time and others that still bore the flesh of the animals they had once been.

Antonio saw ribcages of small animals and the antlers of deer and the jawbones of javelina.

A sudden chill ran up his spine and he scanned the cave in every direction, looking for some cause for his sudden fear.

He thought he heard a low growl like that of an angry dog and he climbed the rise and up the rocks and out of the hole as fast as he could.

“He’s back!” Carlos offered.

Antonio saw that Carlos had a beer in his hand and he reached out and took it and downed it in record time.

“Damn, man,” Carlos complained. “I just popped that.”

“What’s down there?” Angel asked. He looked Antonio up and down then offered, “You look spooked.”

Antonio dismissed this idea with a wave of his hand and said, “Ain’t nothing down there but a whole lotta cave.”

“Everyone, this is Robert Wilson, owner of the ranch and our host for the week.”

Robert nodded to Dr. Ken Cooke in thanks for his introduction then gestured for the group of a little more than a dozen college students to cease their applause. The group did as they asked and watched as the lean 65-year-old rancher held court from beneath the shade of a large mesquite tree. Despite the near hundred-degree temperature, Robert was the picture of vigor. He stood more than six feet tall, his tan skin barely wrinkled, and his jeans and long-sleeve shirt starched to rigid perfection. He removed his bleach-white straw cowboy hat in a gesture of hello to the females that gathered in the shade before him and addressed the crowd.

“I thank y’all for coming,” Robert began, “‘n’ I hope it’s not too hot for y’all.”

The crowd chuckled and Ken said over the crowd, “This is a strong bunch. And ready for some serious paleontology field work.”

Robert nodded and smiled.

“The TNT Ranch has been in my family for over five generations,” Robert began anew. “Our livelihood for most of that time has been cattle ‘n’ oil. My wife and daughter brought some organic vegetables, craft soaps, and bird watching retreats into the mix few years back but still our main bread ‘n’ butter comes from cattle ‘n’ oil.”

Robert paused to take in his audience’s reaction then continued.

“A lot’s changed down here on the border in the last 20 years. Illegals have always crossed through our ranch on their way up from the Rio Grande. Used to be just migrant workers and folks looking for better lives. Now they’s coming up to bring drugs ‘n’ to traffic humans. Seeing what we’ve seen and getting no real help from the government has led the family ‘n’ me to make the hard decision to move on.”

A few in the audience dropped their faces in sadness while others raised theirs in anger at Robert’s plight.

“But I’m hoping to show folks just how special this area is before I go,” Robert explained. “And to hopefully draw some high-interest money in the process. That’s where y’all come in, I guess.”

Most in the audience smiled or laughed at Robert’s simplified explanation of their reasoning for being on the ranch.

“As the story goes, it was my great grandfather that found the tusk my family now knows came from a Columbian mammoth. He found it just inside the sinkhole…” Robert waved his hands as if searching for the right word to grasp onto. “Cave-in, drop, pitfall trap, whatever ya call it but when he brought that tusk home, there was hell to pay. His daddy apparently chafed his hide and reminded him in no uncertain terms that the area wasn’t safe. He said he was lucky he didn’t fall in deeper ‘n’ become part of history like everything else down there.”

Ken clapped his hands in laughter.

“To my knowledge, no one has ever gone down further than what my great grandfather did that day,” Robert continued. “Y’all will be the first ‘n’ I hope you find enough treasures that some museum comes calling with a check big enough for me to relocate someplace safer.”